


Bad Romance

by InventingWords



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Almost Crack, Fluff, M/M, Various Celebrities, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InventingWords/pseuds/InventingWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for <a href="http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/6084.html?thread=7786692#t7786692">this prompt</a>: Erik Lehnsherr is the Ke$ha-esque pop star €rik. Charles Xavier is his number one fan. NOTE: This is on hiatus, but should be finished by 15 September 2012. So sorry for the wait!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks so much for reading. This is definitely not abandoned, I will be back to finish it once my other WIPs are done. I am so sorry!

  
Of course Charles has heard the music. He has heard it on the radio, in Walgreen's, in the background of TV ads for expensive perfume and in the clubs (at least on the rare occasion that Raven manages to drag him away from work.) At some point, he has heard almost every bloody song in the man's entire sodding catalogue, and there was a point in 2010 where you _literally_ couldn't go anywhere without hearing the summer smash hit 'Quicksilver'. Still, he understands why it's such a massive hit. It's catchy, the lyrics are weird and the man is quite easy on the eyes. At least, when he isn't completely obscured by some ridiculous disguise he obviously conjured up under the influence of at least a dozen drugs.

" _Your love, your love like quicksilver..._ " Raven sings annoyingly at him in the office before laughing, and he makes a dismissive sod-off gesture at her as he trudges into the office, inhaling a triple cappuccino. Last night had been a complete fruitless stake-out in front of Miley Cyrus's house, listening to Hank bitch about how _Hello!_ had used one of his photos without credit while Sean bragged about the time P Diddy had spilt Jack on his shoes [he had not washed them for three months, until Raven raised a stink even worse than his shoes] and Charles had thought, _this is my life, staking out a house of some overgrown pop star with kids half my age._

The moment his bum touches the seat, Hank scurries eagerly into his cubicle. "The Grammys--" he began.

"Before you talk about the Grammys, I want to know about the Miley photos last night," Charles says tiredly. "How did they come out?"

Hank adjusts his glasses nervously. "Grainy," he mumbles. "Andit'snotMileyit'sherhousekeeper."

"Wait, wait," Charles groans. "It's not her? All that work for nothing?"

Hank winces, before he brightens up a little. "Well, we're hitting a lot of press cons today."

"Who do we have?"

Hank takes out his iPhone and scrolls through his calendar. "Carrie Underwood, The Lonely Island, Kanye and...€rik."

Charles thinks for a while. "Tell Raven and Angel to cover The Lonely Island, I'll do Kanye and €rik with you. Let's drop Carrie."

Sean, who must have been lying in ambush somewhere, jumps into Charles's office. "Pleasepleaseplease let me do Carrie? I'll get your coffee for a month?"

Charles sighs. He knows he's too much of a pushover. "Get Darwin to go with you, and make sure he talks to the A & R people, not you. I don't want to incur the wrath of the Sony people again."

***

When Erik asks for a glass of water, he gets a range of seven different types of Italian mineral water, sparkling and still, and for some mysterious reason, there is also an accompanying bowl of plums. He's sure that if it was the 80s, there might have been an accompanying mountain of cocaine as well. He checks the plums, just to be sure.

"What are you doing?" Emma asks distractedly as she sweeps into the hotel's conference room, making sure everything is ready for the upcoming round table interviews. "I didn't know you liked plums."

"I don't," Erik says. "All I asked for was a glass of water."

"Oh." Emma suddenly looks really concerned. "Did they get you San Pellegrino? Because I can get Alex to pop out for the San Pellegrino-"

"Emma, it's okay." He's suddenly afraid to ask for a roast beef sandwich, in case they bring in an entire buffalo roasted on a spit. "What time do the interviews start again?"

Emma checks her watch. "2pm. We're starting with Rolling Stone, USA Today, the San Fran Chronicle. I thought we'd start with the big guns first, while you're fresh. Then the smaller publications later."

"Okay." Erik already feels tired. He arranges his sunglasses, then arranges them again. He knows he looks like a douche, wearing them indoors, but sometimes he just wants to be a douche, because it's tiring to be 'on' all the time.

He peeps out of the window, where a crowd of fans are already waiting, holding up banners. Some die-hard ones are even wearing bad copies of the metal cyborg costume he had worn in the Quicksilver video. Sure, he had looked good in it – he's not stupid or blind – but if there was ever a time he had been close to quitting, it had been then. "Why a goddamn metal costume?" he had snapped at Shaw, who had held up his hands in that usual maddening posture meant to placate Erik.

"It's the whole theme of the album, Erik." Shaw's smile had been annoying too. "We've discussed this."

Erik had looked around at Emma, Alex, Janos, all his staff who were pretending not to listen but clearly were, and he had thought about their jobs. He had continued.

***

"What time is it?" Charles asks. He's leaning back in the plush chair at the Four Seasons, a damp handkerchief over his eyes while he contemplates being an ice-cream seller, a genetics professor, an Eastern European circus acrobat, _everything_ except a senior editor for a trashy music magazine which is not that far from a gossip rag. "Are we late for Kanye?"

"We still have time," Hank says. He's reading through the pre-approved list of questions for €rik, mouthing the words silently to himself. "Charles, it says here we can't ask him about his relationship with that Romanian supermodel, Magda."

"We'll think of something," Charles murmurs.

A perfectly groomed blonde woman in knee-high white boots steps out of the interview room and smiles at the waiting journalists. "Next will be Ororo, Scott and Charles, please."

Charles taps Hank on the shoulder and they file into the incredibly posh Orchid Room. Inside, the previous rounds of journos are still hanging about, beaming as they pose for pictures with €rik. "Sunglasses indoors, seriously?" Charles whispers to Hank, who shrugs.

They lay their recorders on the table in front of €rik while Emma politely but firmly shows out the last of the stragglers. Now that they're in the same room, Charles realises €rik is a lot taller than he looks on the telly, and his hands are the first thing Charles notices. Charles has a thing for hands, and €rik has nice ones. Strange that he hadn't noticed before, but then, it would have been hard to concentrate on the man's hands while he was rolling about in that 'Quicksilver' video on a bed with almost-naked models.

Charles tries very hard not to think about €rik naked.

"Hello," €rik says politely to the small group of journalists, and his gaze settles on Charles for a second longer than the rest. Then he's looking away and selecting a bottle of water from an entire array displayed on his table.

Emma says, "Ororo, we'll start with you?"

The questions are tame, but then Ororo is from a reputable music mag who still has some semblance of a reputation. Charles listens with half a ear, simply observing the way €rik talks. For a multi-millionaire pop star, his gestures are a little muted and almost apologetic, and for a moment Charles wonders just how much control the label has over this guy, some random singer they had rescued from obscurity in Germany and turned into a worldwide pop star.

"Charles?" Emma says, and he sits up, clearing his throat. He looks clearly at €rik, who looks politely bored.

Charles steels himself. After all, he's done this a million times."€rik, is it true that the song 'Steel Chains' is about your break-up with Magda?"

A scowl crosses €rik's handsome features and he beckons Emma forward, whispering in her ear. She nods, then looks up. "Charles, that is not on the list of questions."

Charles is suddenly very tired of dealing with all these high and mighty pop stars, and even if he had stuck to the list of pre-approved questions, the article would have bored anyone to tears. "Sod the questions, why can't you answer yes or no? Is it that difficult? Or would you rather talk about censorship of the press?"

Ororo is staring at Charles with wide eyes, while Scott is going, "Here we go," and smirking to himself. Hank simply looks at Charles as though he had torn away his pasty flabby English exterior to reveal an Austrian muscleman.

Erik's mouth is set in a firm thin line, and Emma stares at Charles and Hank. "Leave, please."

"Let's go, Hank," Charles says, scooping up his recorder and tugging along the slack-jawed Hank.

It is only when they're outside and surrounded by the fans in the street that Hank comes alive and says, "Charles, what the _h-ell_?"

Charles sticks his hands in the pockets of his buttoned vest. "Hank, would you like some ice cream before we see Kanye?"

Hank just blinks, but he doesn't say no.

***

"What?" If Emma's shriek is any higher, it would have been heard only by dogs and bats.

"I want that guy on my guest list," Erik says again calmly. "You know, the self-righteous one who mouthed off about censorship of the press or something." The roundtable interviews are finally over, and he has a precious twenty minutes before he has to leave for the TV station.

Emma is just blinking at him. "But why?"

Erik shrugs. "Because he has balls?" he says as Alex steps into the room with his media schedule, eyebrows raised.

"Who has balls?"

"Some journo from Atomic Music who mouthed off to Erik." Emma is still in disbelief.

"Let him in, I want to see this guy," Alex says with a grin as he takes a seat on the bed.

"You'll see him tonight, then," Erik says, giving Emma a look that indicates this conversation is done. "Courier the guest passes to his office, please."

As she leaves the room, Emma makes another noise that sounds, quite clearly, like she doesn't know why she still continues to work for Erik.

"Really?" Alex says.

"Really," Erik says with a bored yawn.

***

  
When the guest passes first arrive at the Atomic Music office, Charles is on the phone to Sony and trying to do some damage control while simultaneously replying to an email that had been urgent three days ago. It seems that Sean had pissed off the Sony A & R people _again_ by repeatedly asking for Carrie Underwood's hand in marriage, and Charles is trying his best to placate a very annoyed Moira.

"Yes Moira, I'm very sorry, it won't happen again." Charles frowns as Logan drops the envelope on his desk and walks off with a _see-ya_ salute, and when he opens the envelope and sees it's for €rik's private showcase tonight at the exclusive club  _La Balma_ , he's convinced that it must be some kind of joke. When Moira hangs up, Charles takes out the passes and scrutinises them carefully. They seem authentic, laminated with a photo of a pensive €rik facing the camera, posing with metal sunglasses. Why are they so fixated on the whole theme of metal anyway? Charles personally thinks it's a bit much.

"It's probably a prank," Charles says when he shows an open-mouthed Hank the passes. "Why would he want to invite me to his private showcase tonight after I openly slagged him off?"

Hank's eyes are round with wonder, making him look like the world's tallest two year old. "I heard tickets for those are going for 500 bucks."

"See? It _has_ to be a prank." Charles is about to dump them in the bin when Darwin strolls into his office, then suddenly makes some kind of choking noise.

 _"Where did you get those?"_ Darwin makes a grab for the passes, but Charles is faster. "Everyone is selling their grandmothers for these! Grandmothers are selling themselves for these!"

"You are all quite barmy," Charles says firmly, and it only confirms that he's the barmiest of them all when he finds himself standing outside _La Balma_ that night with Hank, holding the passes and trying to think of all the different ways a bouncer can throw them out on their arses.

Amazingly, the bouncer does not throw them out, but instead inspects his clipboard and crosses out Charles's name. Not under the long regular _Guest_ column or the shorter _Media_ column, but under the very short _VVIP_ column. Charles has to nudge Hank quite hard in the ribs before Hank remembers to stop opening and shutting his mouth like a dying goldfish, and the bouncer gives them VVIP wristbands and says, "Right this way, Mr. Xavier," in a very respectful tone that Charles has never heard as a member of the press.

They are led to a very chic lounge with soft, ambient lighting, and strangely enough, all the chairs are shaped like eggs and pulsing with strange coloured lights. Charles warily takes a seat in one of them, hoping the roof doesn't open, leaving him to get sucked up into the mothership. Hank on the other hand is very happily helping himself to the appetisers on hand, which seem to consist of a cube of cheese wrapped up in a slice of apple wrapped up in a slice of parma ham. Charles watches with fascination as Hank eats seven of these. At the same time.

They obviously look out of place, what with Charles and his tweed suit and Hank and his casual office wear. The people who are staring at Charles are people that he recognises from the society pages, and he thinks he sees an A-list movie star sitting in one of the private booths, laughing on his cell phone.

They wait for about half an hour, and even though more people must be coming in, their section never gets more crowded, and Charles suspects all the "regular" guests must be packed into some other section of _La Balma_. Most of all, he's curious why €rik has invited him here and why he's in the VVIP section with people whose net worth far exceeds anything Charles will ever earn in 10 lifetimes.

Then a quiet hush falls on the small crowd, and out of the corner of his eye, Charles sees a familiar figure walking gracefully to the bar, dressed in a turtleneck and dark jeans. €rik would have looked inconspicuous if it isn't for the entourage trailing behind him, and Charles recognises Emma, the blonde woman from the roundtable interview.

"He looks quite normal, huh?" Hank's voice is full of awe, and for some reason, Charles can't quite seem to agree with Hank, because if €rik were normal, Charles would have been able to stop staring and wouldn't be wasting his time here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Keio](http://keio.livejournal.com) is so awesome and drew the scene where Darwin snatches the VVIP passes from Charles and yelps about the sale of grandmothers. You can see it [here.](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/8380315359/oh-my-god-i-always-appreciate-fic-recs-because) Thank you so much! And a million <3s for the lovely comments as well! BTW, this is all still a little crack-ish, so take with a huge pinch of salt.

One thing Erik likes about these showcases is that he can do something _different_. Sure, he's always expected to perform his own songs and he dutifully does, because there's no escaping the long arm of Shaw and his contract. But he likes to mix things up. At the last private showcase in Tokyo, he had hired a double bass player and a percussionist, and with his guitar, they had played the stripped down versions of 'Quicksilver' and 'Steel Chains' to much fanatical applause and cheers. Then he had played the cover of a Magnetic Fields song, and he could see that he had surprised - and touched - quite a few of the audience.

Tonight, for the La Balma showcase, he has asked Alex to procure a grand piano and a string quartet. From where Erik is standing at the bar, ignoring everyone's curious gazes, he can see the elegant black Steinway sitting on the makeshift stage, and there are already four chairs set out for the quartet. Everyone must be wondering what he is up to, and he likes this aspect of show business, at least - the opportunity to keep people second-guessing.

After a quick drink he goes backstage to get ready, while Emma addresses the small crowd to remind them no unauthorised photography and video-taking is allowed, but he knows there will be clips on YouTube within the hour. He tries to make small talk with the string musicians, who all still seem nervous and a little wary of him although they've been rehearsing together for the past few nights. Still, he is far too used to this to let the sting settle in.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome...€rik!"

He walks out with the string musicians, taking his place at the piano as some of the audience start whispering amongst themselves. He can't blame them, really, since he's never really demonstrated his instrument-playing abilities during his arena performances. Shaw has always been more interested in spectacle over talent, and Erik's requests for a piano or guitar have always given way to an army of back-up dancers and bizarre contraptions like a fake time machine.

"The first song I'm going to play is 'Magnetic'," he says quietly into the mic, before nodding at the string quartet. They launch into the acoustic string version he had arranged himself, and Erik allows €rik to take over, dominating the stage with his voice and the rich, mellow notes of the antique Steinway piano.

When it is over, there is an equal number of enthusiastic clappers and confused-looking gawkers in the audience. Erik is used to this; if they love it, they will review this performance as a stroke of genius, and if they hate it, they will just say it is avant-garde and experimental. Either way, he can't lose.

He plays a few more songs, deliberately avoiding 'Quicksilver' even though some idiot in the audience keeps calling out for it, and for the last song, he launches into 'Steel Chains', which is really his favourite on the 'Metalwork' album. He tells reporters that his favourite is 'Quicksilver' because Shaw wants to get as much mileage out of that song as possible. Shaw's philosophy has always been to milk the cow for as long as you can until it drops dead, and then resurrect it into a zombie cow, then milk it some more.Willing away all unpleasant thoughts of Shaw, Erik focuses on the song, one he had written one night while very drunk and raw with loneliness, not at all about Magda like everyone thinks but more about the part of himself that he has to hide, letting the sweet, low tones of the cello wrap around the words.

" _Putting my head down  
I know I must walk through the pain  
But tell me how do I do this  
With all these steel chains._"

He steals a glance at the audience during the violin solo, and a few of them look particularly spellbound. One of them looks familiar, and it takes him only a moment to remember the self-righteous reporter from the earlier interview. Surprisingly, the reporter, who is wearing a tweed suit - seriously? - and standing next to his much taller photographer looks thoughtful, really absorbed in the song and in the way Erik is playing it.

When the song is finished, the applause is much louder than Erik expected, and he wonders if he has underestimated his audience. He gets up and bows with a smile, introducing the string musicians who received a round of scattered applause. Now the house lights come up again as he heads backstage, grabbing the bottle of water that Alex is holding out to him.

"That was really good, man." Alex sounds impressed, which is quite a feat since he is possibly even more hardened and cynical than Erik. "The audience really ate it up."

"Not all of them," Erik reminds him as he wipes his mouth, but the look they exchange acknowledges that this is still pretty good, considering these A-listers and journalists had come to listen to Erik lip-sync his way through his entire album. Erik claps Alex on the back and he grins as he pulls back the curtains.

"Ready to meet your adoring masses?"

Erik sighs as he brushes back his hair. "I suppose we might as well get it over with."

***

"That was....unusually good." Hank is still bouncing on the balls of his feet, turning towards Charles. "I really didn't know he can play the piano. And really well, too!"

"I was surprised he reworked the songs," Charles admits. The words for the rather haunting 'Steel Chains' is still floating about in his head, and he's already making a mental note to search for the live version on YouTube when he gets home. "Not bad, though. Did you get some good shots?"

Hank holds up his camera. "I got some--" His voice is drowned out by cheers and screams and shouts of 'There he is!' and a thousand camera flashes are going off as Erik emerges from backstage, a tight smile on his face.

Charles watches as Erik skilfully navigates the crowd of media professionals and hangers-on. Charles has had the opportunity to observe a lot of celebrities up close, but none of them give him this strange, odd feeling that Erik does, the feeling that _he does not want to be here at all._ Every celebrity Charles has met has at least some degree of narcissism, and that cancels out some of the negative effects that a life in the spotlight brings about, deeming them intrusive but necessary. With Erik, this narcissism seems to be missing. Yes, he is not friendly or approachable, but Charles suspects he would be like this anyway even if he isn't famous.

"Excuse me?" Charles and Hank both turn to face a young man with blonde spikes and narrow eyes, and Charles recognises him as Erik's handler. "Are you the guys from Atomic Music?"

"Yes we are," Hank says eagerly, even as Charles fancifully envisions the both of them being dragged backstage for a beating in return for mouthing off to Erik at the interview that afternoon.

The man guffaws. "Man, I had to see you guys for myself. It's not everyday that someone stands up to Erik."

Hank is slowly turning pale. "What did he say about us? What did he say about _me_?"

The blonde man just looks amused. "I'll catch you guys later."

"Wait, what's your name?" Hank asks, surprising both Charles and the other man.

A slow, slightly incredulous grin is growing on his face. "I'm Alex," he says, before giving Hank a once-over and gazing at his feet. "Nice to meet you, Bigfoot."

"Wait, what?" Hank is left blinking, while Charles merely rolls his eyes. He knows when they're obviously being mocked, even though he still has no idea what Alex was trying to achieve.

"I think it's time to go, Hank."

***

Erik is trying not to look bored, but it's really hard because there's nothing more he hates than being cornered and forced to talk about _fashion._ Unfortunately, the designer currently cornering him insists on showing Erik pictures of his latest designs on his iPad. "I designed my new summer collection _specifically_ with you in mind, Erik," Stefano gushes, and Erik tries to keep the horror off his face when he realises all the clothes look like loin cloths.

Thankfully Alex rescues him halfway through, saying, "Erik, we've got to go back to the hotel now." Erik gives Stefano an apologetic grimace as he lets himself be yanked away, but he makes his mind up to give Alex a raise.

However, that thought is short-lived. "Shaw wants to see you," Alex says with a sigh. "Think he's not happy about the showcase."

"I did what he wanted," Erik snaps, although the vitriol isn't meant for Alex. "I played the songs he wanted--"

"He's saying that he didn't want a repeat of Tokyo." Now Emma is joining them, clapping her phone shut and looking equally as unhappy as Alex. "And I know he's in a lousy mood tonight, because there's some European interview Magda did that makes you look, um--"

"Douchey," Alex finishes for her, looking rather proud of himself despite Emma's glare.

" _Scheisse._ " Erik is really not in the mood to deal with Shaw tonight, and the last time they had spoken, they had almost come to blows in some chic Manhattan restaurant. "I'm just going to end up ripping out his spine and trying to strangle him with it."

"You know..." Alex is now looking thoughtful. "It's kind of crowded here tonight. Maybe we couldn't find you."

Erik's eyebrows jump up, and now even Emma is smiling a little. "Maybe you snuck off with an army of hungover supermodels, and we didn't see you," she says wonderingly.

Now Alex is really getting into it. "Yeah, and the supermodels looked like they hadn't eaten in a month, and you went to get them some food before you brought them over to Dr. Dre's house. Then you had an orgy that would make the Romans feel hella inadequate."

Emma laughs. "Alex, you amaze me! How do you know the word 'inadequate'?"

"Yeah, whatever, Skankerella."

Despite their squabbling, Erik's smile is growing wider and wider. "So, you didn't see me?"

Emma has a blank look on her face as she stares at Alex. "Alex, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Alex looks around with a faint frown.

Erik is out of the back door before they can change their minds.

***  
"I'm sure it's impossible to get a cab at this hour in this part of downtown, Hank," Charles explains patiently as Hank tries to flag down a taxi by flailing his arms like a man dancing to the Village People. "I'll just call for one."

"No, wait! Here we are!" Hank finally manages to hail a cab and clambers into the passenger seat, motioning for Charles to get in. "Come on, we'll share! I'll drop you off?"

"Nah, I need to head back to do some work. Whoa." Charles wrinkles his nose as he climbs into the back seat, which smells vaguely like cabbage. "Just drop me at the office."

Hank is about to give the disgruntled driver the address when the door opens on Charles's side, and another man is climbing into the back seat with a grimace. "Oh," he says when he sees Charles and Hank are already inside. "Sorry, I didn't know it was occupied."

The cab driver's jaw is hanging open. "Hey! Hey!" he shouts before bursting into song, " _Your love, like quick silvers!"_

"Holy....." Hank trails off, because it is indeed €rik in their cab, looking simultaneously surprised and pained. Charles himself is wide-eyed; it is not every day that a world famous pop star climbs into your cab.

Now Erik is moving as if to open the door. "I'll just get the next one--" but it is too late as a small mob of paparazzi crowds around the cab, which is suddenly filled with camera flashes and shouts of, _"Is it true that you slept with Magda's sister?"_

"Just drive!" Charles tells the driver as he shields his eyes from the litany of lightning flashes, and the awestruck driver quickly turns to pull away from the curb, taking care to bump a persistent photographer in the arse as they drive away.

They spend the next few minutes staring at Erik, who looks increasingly uncomfortable . "Er, where are the two of you going?"

"We were heading back to the office," Charles says. "Well, I was anyway, and Hank was heading home."

Erik looks a little surprised as he checks his watch. "You're still working at this time?"

Charles lifts an eyebrow at him. "So are you. Well, until now."

Now Erik's mouth twists in amusement. "Touché."

Hank is watching back and forth like a tennis spectator, and the driver is still gaping at both of them in his rear view mirror as though he can't believe his luck. Charles simply prays that they won't swerve off the road and end up in a ditch. If he dies side by side with a global pop star in a car accident, he's pretty sure his own magazine will devote 50 pages to €rik and dump his own one-line obituary somewhere below the personal ads for erotic masseuses.

"I hate to be Fussy Freddy," the driver says a little timidly. "But where we going?"

Charles and Hank turn to Erik, who shrugs. "Just anywhere away from here, really," he says, and Charles doesn't miss the faint undertone of bitterness.

"Well, just drop us off at the office, and you can have the cab then," Charles suggests, taking out his wallet with the intention of paying for their share of the cab ride.

"You know, I've never actually been to a paparazzo's office before," Erik says thoughtfully, as Hank realises what he is saying and tries to stifle his glee by stuffing his hands into his own mouth.

"We're not paparazzi," Charles says a little too sharply. He's still finding it a little hard to believe that Erik wants to actually go to their office. Just who is he hiding from? "We're a music magazine, and sure, we're not Rolling Stone or anything, but we do all right."

"Fine, then I should be safe there." Erik leans back in his seat. "I'll be out of your hair within five minutes and make my own way, I promise."

Even though this is such a spectacularly bad idea, Charles finds himself giving the driver the address, and as Hank gives up an excited thumbs-up, he can't stop himself from wondering what exactly is Erik up to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments and artwork! The lovely [beanrice](http://beanrice.livejournal.com) has done a fantastic, hilarious drawing of a Gaga-esque Erik in the Haus of M (LOLOL to the power of 1,000,000) and you can see it [here.](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/nerdgirl/hausofm.png) The wonderful [keio](http://keio.livejournal.com) has also done another hilarious comic, and it's [here.](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/8423417950/compulsion-everything-is-hilarious-and-just-omg) Show them some love!

When the cab driver drops them off, he refuses all payment but insists that Erik sign an autograph for his daughter instead. Charles notes with amusement that Erik’s long-suffering expression probably means he isn’t new to this. Erik takes the receipt that the driver hands him, asking, “What is your daughter’s name?”

The driver clears his throat. “Vladimir.”

There is an uncomfortable silence in the cab, while Hank looks confused and Charles tries to smother his laugh and disguise it as a cough. Erik raises an eyebrow at the driver. “Your daughter’s name is _Vladimir_.”

“Is right.”

Erik just sighs and signs the receipt, handing it over to the star-struck driver and climbing out. Charles pats the driver on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”

“No mention, no mention.” The driver beams as he waves at all of them before skidding away, and since Hank has changed his mind about going home, Charles decides it’s a better idea to bring Erik upstairs before anyone on the street sees him and asks him to sign more ‘Vladimir’ autographs.

Charles is surprised to see that half the office is still here even though it’s almost 11pm, and they don’t look surprised to see him and Hank either. “Hey boss,” Darwin says as he walks past with the colour proofs, and he casts Erik a cursory glance before his eyes widen, and he backtracks. “Whoa. Wait, um--”

“Yes, Darwin.” Charles realises he should have prepared for this, and that he should have expected his workaholic team to be in the office when the magazine is going to print in five days. “Could you get our guest some tea, please?”

“We have guests?” Sean says cheerfully as he ambles past, and strangely enough, he bursts into laughter when he sees the impassive Erik. “Hey man, you look _just_ like him! Are you an €rik impersonator?”

“I think that is the best job description I’ve heard so far,” Erik says dryly, and Sean cracks up again while Darwin’s eyes have grown to the size of dinner plates.

Realising that this has the potential to turn very quickly into a circus, Charles gestures for the boys to move on. “All right, then. Come on to my office,” Charles says as he gently steers Erik towards the end of the corridor, while Darwin gapes. Now, Charles can see doubt is starting to creep over Sean’s face. “Hank, could you help with the tea, please?”

“Uh, sure.” Hank slinks away, only managing a few steps before Darwin yanks him aside and hisses questions at him, Sean’s brow starting to crease in confusion as he watches them.

Charles’s office is normally neat, but because they’re going to print soon, the old layouts and colour proofs are everywhere. He tries not to feel self-conscious while tidying everything up, aware of Erik’s eyes following his every movement. Maybe this is how Erik feels, being watched every single waking minute.

There is an odd moment when Charles can feel Erik’s gaze resting on his face, and he clears his throat again, feeling the sides of his face heat up. God, he hopes he isn’t flushing. He’s been around enough celebrities to get this star-struck, but Erik has a very commanding presence that seems to fill Charles’s entire office, making it seem almost too small for the both of them.

Then Erik is looking away – at last – and sitting down in one of the guest chairs as he studies Charles’s desk. He doesn’t ask before turning some of the photo frames around, looking at the pictures before turning the frames back to face Charles. “You have a lot of friends.”

“Oh?” Charles says disinterestedly as he turns on the computer. The photos have been there so long that he barely notices them anymore, but now he’s seeing them through Erik’s eyes. Charles, drunk with happiness and pressing a kiss to Raven’s cheek. Charles, with his arms looped around Darwin and Sean. Charles with Moira at some function for Lady Gaga, the two of them posing like her. It’s slightly depressing when the realisation hits him that the photos are all work-related.

It must have shown on his face, because Erik asks, “Did I say something?”

“Oh, no. It’s not you.” Charles is now careful to keep his face blank. “It’s just that these are all my colleagues. Or people related to work.” He really doesn’t know why he is telling this to Erik, who probably couldn’t care less if he tried. “It’s sad, when you realise how much your life revolves around work, and how the closest people in your life are also the ones whose paycheck you are responsible for.”

To his surprise, there is a flicker of something pensive in Erik’s eyes. “I think we may have more in common than we think.”

They share a brief smile of solidarity, and there is a moment of _something_ in the air between them, and Charles can feel his face getting heated again. Thankfully, there is a tentative knock on the door and he yells out in relief, “Come in!”

Hank teeters in with a cup of steaming hot tea. Earl Grey, from the scent filling the office. Erik sniffs appreciatively as Hank hands the cup to him with slightly shaky hands. “Thank you, Hal.”

“It’s Hank,” Charles corrects him.

“Oh no, Hal is fine,” Hank says, beaming as Erik lifts an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Hank.” Charles cants his head towards the door, and Hank nods immediately, making himself scarce.  

***

It’s been more than five minutes, and Erik really doesn’t want to leave. Charles’s office is comfortable and rather alien, a complete turnaround from the push, luxurious surroundings Erik is still not used to. He had grown up with his parents in a house in Düsseldorf not much bigger than this office, and although his current house in Malibu is at least a hundred times larger, it also feels a hundred times emptier. For a sudden, startling moment he is filled with a surge of longing for his parents, and he tries to hide his face behind his cup, hoping Charles won’t notice.

No such luck. “You all right?” There is a note of kindness in Charles’s voice, and when Erik dares to risk a glance at him, he can’t help thinking how Charles’s eyes are so blue and earnest.

“This is just really good tea,” Erik says instead, and of course Charles looks sceptical – he’s a reporter after all – but he lets it go, his fingers clattering away on his keyboard.

“I’m afraid it’s just going to be really boring for you,” Charles says apologetically as he squints at the screen. “I can’t bring you around for a tour without it turning into a mobile zoo.” Erik lets out a soft snort of amusement here. “So you’ll either have to watch me work, or you can go through some of our rival magazines where Sean has drawn moustaches on every celebrity.”

“I’m fine here,” Erik assures him. Really, anywhere is fine as opposed to the impending doom waiting for him at the hotel. “Anyway, how did you come to work here? You don’t strike me as the pap--” At Charles’s frown, Erik quickly changes his words, “--the journalistic sort.”

Charles’s mouth twists in amusement, and Erik can’t help looking at it, wondering why it is so red. “What _is_ the journalistic sort?” Charles asks. “Should I have a pencil behind my ear? A fedora with a card in the band that says ‘PRESS’?”

“Yes, exactly,” Erik says with a smirk as he relaxes a little more. “You fail. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.”

“Piss off,” Charles says airily. “Anyway, my sordid story is--” Suddenly he pauses, holding up a finger to motion to Erik to hold on as Charles gets to his feet, creeping silently to the door. Turning the doorknob, he quickly swings it open and suddenly a bunch of people, including Hank and the boys whom Erik had met earlier, come tumbling through the door, sprawled on the floor and looking stunned and contrite.

“What. Is. This. Devilry?” Charles asks very quietly and very dangerously.

“Oh look, Raven, here’s your earring,” Darwin quickly says, and the rest all nod eagerly and talk over each other about missing earrings and oh-look-wasn’t-it-fortunate-it-was-just-outside-Charles’s-office and no one is mentioning the extremely familiar, multi-millionaire pop star sitting in his guest chair. Erik is more amused than anything, watching as Charles’s staff clamber to their feet and scurry out of the office.

“Terrible eavesdroppers,” Charles says by way of apology as he closes the door again. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”

“No problem.” Erik feels his fingers itching. “Is there somewhere I can smoke?”

Charles thinks for a while, before his face lights up with a smile. And, Erik will admit only on his deathbed, it is quite a beguiling smile. “Yes, there is a place.” He is collecting his wallet and staff card, nodding at Erik. “Come on.”

***

The roof is cold at this time of night, even for summer in LA. Charles watches as Erik lights his cigarette, the flame casting an orange glow on that famous face Charles has seen several times on TV, the papers and even his own magazine. Erik must be used to people staring at him, but he casts Charles an appraising glance. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry, my friend.” Charles wonders why Erik is now chuckling. “What is so funny?”

“That part. ‘Friend’.” Erik takes a deep drag of his cigarette, and Charles admires the way his cheeks hollow, accentuating those famous cheekbones. “We’re probably the last people on earth who should be friends.”

“Oh, my apologies.” Charles is aware his tone is a little too sharp. “I thought when I brought you here, away from whatever bogeyman you’re running away from and refusing to tell us about, I was under the impression that I was treating you as such. Apparently not, then.”

“No it’s nothing like that,” Erik says immediately, his face serious. “It’s just-- you have to understand, I can’t even go down to the store to buy a carton of milk without the paparazzi getting in my face and asking if I’m sleeping with the store owner. I just...don’t trust the media.”

“So why are you here?” Charles asks, because really, he wants to know.

“I don’t know,” Erik says wonderingly, a smile growing on his face. “I really have no idea.”

“If it helps anything,” Charles says, “I’m not going to print anything. Any of this.”

Erik stubs out his cigarette a little too viciously. “You must think I’m some sort of jerk.” The tone of certainty in his voice is palpable.

“A little, yes,” Charles admits, even as Erik coughs out a cloud of smoke. He pats Erik’s back in concern. “Are you all right?”

There is a wry smile on Erik’s face. “You’re one of the few people who have been very honest with me so far,” he says. “Even some of my staff do not accord me that courtesy. They just see me as this egotistical douche who can’t function in real life.”

Charles frowns. “There is so much more to you than that,” he says without thinking. “People shouldn’t be defined by their roles, or their jobs.”

“That’s a little idealistic and naive,” Erik says, and Charles can’t help bristling at his patronising tone. “In this industry, everyone uses each other for their own advantage.”

“We’re not using each other now,” Charles says, a little irritated. “So maybe you should rethink what you say before mouthing off to the person who’s helping you for some reason I can’t even remember at the moment.”

As Erik goes very, very still, Charles realises that he has, once again, allowed his mouth to run away with him, as Raven has always said. He fights to remain silent, observing Erik and the hunch of his shoulders, looking both guarded and vulnerable at once.

Erik clears his throat. “I just--” Suddenly he looks pained, and Charles is filled with the ridiculous urge to hold him and make him feel better. They’re both staring at each other, and Charles is about to say something when they’re both aware of a faint buzzing coming from Erik’s pocket. Erik digs out his phone, then answers crisply,  “Alex.”

Charles walks away, wanting to give Erik some privacy, but really, he can’t help feeling that he has just dodged a bullet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the awesome comments! And yes, this continues to be slightly on crack. Anyway, the wonderful [Keio](http://keio.livejournal.com) has drawn another hilarious picture of a shell-shocked Darwin [right here](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/8593052380/darwin-says-hey-boss-darwin-says-as-he-walks). Please give her some love!

Alex sounds fed-up on the phone, which can only mean that Shaw must have ripped him and Emma a new one for letting Erik 'slip' through their fingers. Erik has never been more grateful to his staff for doing this for him and buying him an hour (or so) of respite, and he doesn't want them to get into any more trouble. He covers the mouthpiece and asks Charles, "What is the address?"

Charles searches his pockets, then hands him a name card. Erik reads out the address, wishing he didn't have to leave so soon, and Alex glumly says he'll send a car around before hanging up. When Erik tucks both his phone and the name card into his pocket, Charles is looking out at the LA skyline, mouth quirked up in a rather pensive smile. "I suppose you need to be going now."

"Yes." Erik studies him, thinking that Charles is such an odd contradiction with his water-tight code of ethics and morals when he is working in an industry that makes a living out of exploiting people like Erik and Lady Gaga. Erik wants to trust him, much more than he will admit to, but this can only end badly, especially with the promise of that elusive _something_ hanging in the air between them. Erik can't help wondering that if he had known Charles in another universe, in a hundred other universes, would things be different? Would they still be on opposing sides of a great divide?

They stand there in silence while Erik has another cigarette, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Erik isn't sure if a minute or an hour has passed, but he likes this. He can't remember the last time he had shared a comfortable silence with someone he barely knows. With anyone, actually.

"Thank you for visiting us," Charles says unexpectedly. He holds out his hand, a gentleman's handshake. So maybe Erik's imagination has been working overtime again and the chemistry between them had been wishful thinking on Erik's part. He shakes the offered hand. "I would invite you to drop by again, but then I don't want to be responsible for the resulting chaos," Charles says a little regretfully.

"I understand." They fall silent as they head back to the office, and as they descend the stairs, Erik can hear a series of whispers floating up from the stairwell.

 _"Are you sure you saw them go up, Dar?"_

 _"Of course I did, you think I hallucinated the whole thing? I'm not Sean."_

 _"HEY!"_

 _"Shhh I think they're coming!"_

Far more amused than he should be, Erik steals a sideways glance and notices that Charles's cheeks are flushed pink. _Wonder if that's what he looks like after--_ Erik firmly jams the brakes on that thought before it can take form, and when they walk back into the office, the staff are studiously bent over their desks while Alex is waiting at the door, talking to Hank.

"Hey, the car is downstairs," Alex says to Erik. "Sorry I couldn't buy you more time."

"You did your best," Erik says, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing it. "Shaw doesn't know we're here, right?"

Alex snorts. "You think I'm nuts? I told him you were at Balaclava with some Victoria's Secret model. Anyway, hang on a minute." He takes out a pen and grabs Hank's hand, scribbling down his number on it. Both Erik and Charles watch with wide eyes as Hank looks at everywhere but Alex, surprisingly bashful. Alex pops the cap back on the pen, winking at Hank. "Call me, okay?"

"Um, sure." Hank stares at the ink drying on his hand, grinning like a maniac. "Uh, see you soon."

This is getting weird for Erik, so he gives Charles a final nod. "Thank you, again."

"You're welcome, my friend." Again, Charles's earnestness is a little too unnerving, so Erik quickly turns to leave, followed by Alex who cheerfully yells, _'See ya, Bigfoot!'_

As they climb into the car, Erik says, "You know, if you're trying to hit on a guy, it might be a good idea not to call him Bigfoot."

Alex fishes out a name card from his jacket, which also has the Atomic Music logo on it, but with Hank's mobile number scrawled across it. "Seems to work fine for me." His grin is annoyingly smug.

"Whatever, Summers." Erik looks out of the window, trying not to think about the name card burning a hole in _his_ pocket.

***

The magazine has gone to print, and finally Charles can stop and breathe and relax and finally leave the office sometime before 3am. Outside his office, he can hear his staff making plans to go out and celebrate, since it's Friday evening, and frankly Charles wants nothing but to crawl home and finish the rest of his Faulkner novel and drink buckets of sweet, comforting tea. By now Erik's visit to their office last week feels like a surreal dream that never happened, and if the staff hadn't kept giving Charles furtive, incredulous looks over the week, he would have believed it really _was_ a dream.

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts, and Charles looks up to see a grinning Hank in his doorway. "You're going out with me tonight."

"Count me out," Charles says firmly as he stacks the various papers on his desk. "I'm going home to sleep for a few hundred years, or at least until Ryan Seacrest's hairstyle has changed."

"Come on." The pleading expression on Hanks' face is rather endearing. "This is my first date in a very long time, I need a wingman."

Charles frowns at him. "I thought a wingman was supposed to help you pick up girls. Or guys, in this case."

Hank adjusts his glasses, getting flustered. "Well, you know what I mean. Please, Charles? I worked so hard this week, and this really means a lot to me."

Sighing, Charles makes a silent resolution to start building up immunity to the very cunning pleas of his very cunning staff. "Fine, one drink and then I'm leaving you to your devices."

***

Of course Charles should have asked who Hank's date is. If he hadn't been so tired and sick of pouring over photos of that infernal Justin Bieber and his equally infernal beard Selena Gomez, he might have actually scraped together a few brain cells to ask. But no, he didn't ask, and it all falls into place when he sees a grinning Alex outside Taboo. "What up, what up?" Alex is more than pleased to see Hank, brushing a hand over his sweater vest. "A little preppy for this club, but it looks good on you, Bigfoot." He nods at Charles too, his grin turning sly. That should have been Charles's first warning. "Glad you could make it too, bud. He'll be happy."

That should have been Charles's second warning – who is 'he'? - but Hank is already steering him towards Taboo's entrance, and Alex is dragging them past the long snaking queue. The bouncer seems to know him as he nods immediately and lifts the velvet rope for the three of them, inciting a few cries of 'Are you _kidding_ me?' from the people in the queue.

Charles has been to Taboo only once before, and as far as gay clubs go, this one is a lot plusher and more sleek than a few others he has been to. Although the drinks are more expensive, the staff are pleasantly good-looking (but not enough to be distracting) and the music is good. Charles tries not to laugh as he walks in and the music blasting throughout the club is a house remix of €rik's 'Quicksilver', the thumping bass vibrating through his ribcage.

He feels a little overdressed in his button-up blue shirt, vest and slacks, especially when he sees two guys walk past him wearing little more than mesh shirts and tiny shorts. Rather self-conscious for once, he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and follows Alex to the back of the club, where there is a VIP section and a massive bouncer the size of a house guarding the entrance. Alex bumps fists with him, then leans in and yells something in his ear while gesturing to Hank and Charles. The bouncer nods and lets them all in.

The VIP section is relatively empty, compared to the crowded dance floor. There is a cream L-shaped couch dominating the room, and a glass table in front of it laden with various bottles and a bottle of Dom resting in a bucket of ice. Lounging on the couch is someone extremely familiar, wearing a grey fedora and Ray-Bans, talking to an African-American woman wearing a pink wig. Charles has never interviewed Nicki Minaj before, but then again, it is hard to mistake her for anyone else. And as for Erik, Charles recognises him immediately despite the attempted disguise, and there are tiny pinpricks of anxiety and anticipation all over his skin.

Nicki Minaj is now patting Erik's knee and kissing him on both cheeks in farewell, and as she walks past, she gives Charles a smile as she lets herself out to join the crowd on the dance floor, who greet her with cheers and the clicking of their camera phones.

"Have a seat, guys," Alex says as he gestures towards the couch.

***

Erik smirks a little at Alex who is grinning from ear to ear with that Hank guy in tow, but he sits up when he realises Charles is right behind them. He hadn't expected Charles to come – had hoped, yes – but this is a pleasant surprise. Charles looks good enough to eat, what with that slightly rumpled look and the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up, exposing those pale arms.

"Looks like we're both chaperones for the evening," Erik tells him as Charles takes the seat beside his, the two of them watching Alex pouring out drinks for a stammering Hank. "How did you get blackmailed into this?"

Charles lets out a long sigh. "The magazine has just gone to print today, and Hank was guilt-tripping me about how he worked oh-so hard."

"Funny, Alex used a similar line on me." Erik lifts his sunglasses, and Charles looks so much better like this, without any obstructions, his eyes a rather luminous blue in the dark lighting of the club. "Looks like it's a match made in heaven."

Charles picks up a bottle of Grey Goose, pouring out some for himself before mixing in some cranberry. "Aren't you afraid that someone's going to snap a picture of you here?"

"With this water-tight security? No." Erik nods towards the bouncer guarding the VIP entrance. "And you'll be amazed what a good disguise a hat and sunglasses can be."

That red bow of a mouth is quirking up in amusement again. "Then people are blind." Charles keeps his eyes on Erik's as he sips his drink, wetting his lips. "But you look...nice. Really good."

"Hmmm." Erik is used to compliments from strangers, the media, fans....just about everyone, really. But there is something about the way Charles says it, with that ever-earnest touch of sincerity that makes something in Erik's chest loosen. "Want to dance?"

Charles seems surprised. "There?" he says, gesturing towards the heaving dance floor with his glass. "Won't you be seen?" There is a naughty spark of something in Charles's eyes, and Erik recognises this as a challenge.

"Just for a while. Come on," he says, taking one last swig of Henney before putting his Ray-Bans back on and getting up, and so do Alex and Hank who are already headed for the dance floor with their drinks. Charles shrugs before following all of them, running a hand through his hair, and Erik wonders what it would feel like to let his fingers sift through those dark waves.

Thankfully they are no longer playing his song, and of course since this is a gay club, Lady Gaga's 'Judas' is booming through the speakers. Alex lets out a whoop and starts grooving to the beat. Hank seems frozen and unsure, and Alex lets his hands rest on Hank's hips, urging him to move. Charles laughs at the little scene in front of him, loud and clear in Erik's ear as he leans in to shout, "I never thought anyone could make Hank move like that!"

"I don't think even Hank thought he could move like that!" Erik shouts back, his nose bumping against the curve of Charles's ear, and maybe the slight shiver it causes is due to his imagination. They start dancing a little, Erik absently keeping a proprietary hand on the small of Charles's back, not that he seems to mind.

"Did you get into a lot of trouble that night?" Charles yells in his ear again, and Erik shrugs.

"I have my ways," he says, because although Shaw had made Erik sit through a very unpleasant talk, Erik had acquiesced to a number of unnecessary appearances just so Alex and Emma wouldn't get into trouble, and that had been enough to placate Shaw for the meantime. Shaking his head as though to clear the unpleasant thoughts, he focuses on the pleasant warmth of Charles near him. Having spent the past few days cooped up in the studio, Erik just wants to let loose tonight and have a good time _incognito_.

However, it soon becomes clear enough that _Charles cannot dance to save his life._ He flails his arms a lot, almost hitting a nearby drag queen in the eye, and he steps on Erik's toes quite a fair bit. With anyone else Erik would have been annoyed, but Charles's cheeks are flushed an endearing pink whenever he apologises profusely, and Erik is enjoying the view far too much to care. He catches sight of Alex's smirk and flips him off, not that Alex would care considering how Hank has taken off his glasses and keeps draping himself over a delighted Alex.

"They hit it off well," Erik murmurs in Charles's ear when there is a pause between song changes. "As successful matchmakers, I think we owe ourselves a congratulatory drink."

Charles seems particularly receptive to that idea. "Lead the way," he says, his hand resting between Erik's shoulder blades.

They head back to the VIP section to pour themselves more drinks, and so what if Erik mixes a little more vodka into Charles's drink than necessary? Charles just watches him, his lips twitching up into a knowing smile, and they clink their glasses together, their eyes locked over the rims.

Regretfully, Charles has to tear his gaze away when his phone chimes with a message, and he digs it out of his pocket, frowning at the screen. "What's wrong?" Erik asks, gesturing at the phone.

"My colleagues are at another club, and they want us to join them," Charles explains as he texts. "They don't know that Hank is on a date."

"What about you?" Erik asks over the rim of his glass. "Are _you_ on a date?"

Charles gives him an even look, but he doesn't reply.

"Anyway, if you want, we could all go over to that other place," Erik offers. "The driver is waiting outside."

Charles raises his eyebrows at Erik. "Aren't you afraid that you'll get mobbed at the other club?"

Erik shrugs. "I was fine on the dance floor earlier, no one grabbed me or asked to have my babies."

Charles's smile is far more bewitching than it has the right to be, the clean straight edges of his teeth visible even though the barrier of his glass. "Sure, then I'll just go grab Hank."

"Don't forget my filthy assistant," Erik calls out after him.

***

Again, Charles can hear Lady Gaga (but this time, it's a Hurts remix) blasting from inside the club when they reach INDIEpendent, and he waits as Erik tells the driver to come back in a few hours. The bouncer, Victor, is familiar enough with Charles and Hank to wave them through without having to queue, and he doesn't even bat an eyelid at Erik and Alex. However, the cashier's eyes widen with recognition when they're paying the door charges, but to her credit, she doesn't say anything. Besides, Charles isn't too worried. INDIEpendent is a haven for hipsters who either disdain artists like Erik or are too cool to be affected by a celebrity sighting.

They spot Sean's flaming red hair at the far corner behind the DJ booth, and sure enough, almost everyone from Atomic Music is there and so is Moira, apparently on a break from Carrie Underwood's publicity tour. They raise their glasses and cheer when they spot Charles and Hank, but Sean chokes on his drink when Erik appears behind Charles. Raven and Angel are exchanging wide-eyed looks, while Darwin is thumping a red-faced Sean on the back and Logan announces, "I'm going to get a drink. A BIG one."

"Make that three, Logan," Raven calls out, while poor unsuspecting Moira just smiles at Erik and Alex.

"Hi, I'm Moira." Her eyes narrow slightly at Erik as she shakes his hand. "I'm not with the magazine, but I work with them often enough, especially for PR purposes."

"Charles has mentioned you," he says pleasantly. "This is Alex, and I'm Erik."

"Oh, what a coincidence," Moira says. "I was just thinking that you looked like...." Trailing off, her eyes are huge as she stares at Charles. "Oh my God."

Charles heaves a heavy sigh. "It's a long story," he tells her with an ineffectual wave of his hand. "I'll tell you about it some time."

Moira nods mutely, and when Sean hands her a new drink, she drains it in one go.

However, Erik thankfully doesn't seem affected by the attention, chatting with Alex and nodding his head to the music. Charles even catches him singing along to some of the more obscure songs, and he really shouldn't be surprised. From the tasteful way Erik had reworked his songs at the showcase last week, it is obvious enough that there is a serious artist in Erik behind the glitzy Euro-trash pop facade.

Someone has ordered a whole array of shots, and Charles downs quite a few of them, enjoying the pleasant buzz in his head. The music is great, the company is fantastic and the way Erik is smiling at him is rather secretive, even amused. At some point, 'Fascination' by Alphabeat comes on and Charles drags him up for a dance, not taking no for an answer.

"Be careful, Charles, you'll take someone's eye out," Erik says dryly, but he is moving to the beat nonetheless, a world away from the slick dance moves Charles has seen in his videos.

"You're hilarious, Erik," Charles drawls, loosening his cuffs and enjoying the way Erik's gaze lingers on his arms.

"I know." Erik's smirk is smug but affectionate, and he slips an arm around Charles as if to steady him, and the heat of his palm burns through the fabric of Charles's blue shirt.

"Ahem." Alex raises a meaningful eyebrow at both of them as he walks past on his way to refill Hank's drink. "And I thought I was the one on a date here."

"Get lost, Summers." Erik's face is impassive, and it's hard to tell what he is thinking when Charles can't see his eyes, hidden by those bloody Ray-Bans. A small sacrifice to pay in return for supposed anonymity, he supposes.

"You're welcome," Alex shoots back at him, his smile all teeth as he walks away to the bar, and Charles's brain is fuzzy as he tries to process what _that_ was all about. Also, Erik has removed his sunglasses, and the way he is staring at Charles is really disconcerting.

Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, he can see a few of his staff still whispering and staring goggle-eyed at Erik, and the entire bizarreness of the situation hits him like a brick to the face. He blinks a little blearily at Erik, struggling to concentrate. Why did he have so many shots? "I'm sorry. I mean, I'm sorry they're staring," he blurts out, running a thumb down Erik's stubbled cheek. "We shouldn't be friends, you know."

Erik's face splits open in a wide grin. "I don't want to be friends." And then he's kissing Charles, his mouth tasting like tequila and lime and salt, and Charles quickly gets with the program and chases the taste, curling an arm around Erik's neck.

"Whoa," he hears someone say, and when Charles manages to tear his mouth away, he isn't surprised to see that all of their friends are staring in amazement, and Raven has clapped her hands over her mouth. Erik is still smirking, the handsome bastard, lifting someone's drink and taking a huge swig of it. From Sean's yelp, it is probably his.

Thankfully, no one outside their little group seems to have noticed or even cottoned on to who Erik is, but one of the wait staff seems a little suspicious, so Charles tamps down the urge to fling himself at Erik again. He knows it's the alcohol that makes him want to do unspeakable things to a mostly-straight pop star in plain sight of LA's finest hipsters, and it is also the alcohol that is making his head swim and stomach churn. "Be right back," he tells Erik, and stumbles away to the bathroom where he promptly throws up.

***

When they finally decide to leave INDIEpendent, Erik offers to send Charles and Hank home, but Hank turns him down, blushing and stammering as he does so. The only explanation is the smug look on Alex's face, as well as the 'Don't cockblock me, bro' frown that he shoots at Erik in warning. Erik holds his hands up in surrender, saying, "Don't have so much sex that you forget to turn up for work tomorrow."

"Whatever," Alex says, even as Hank turns an interesting shade of beetroot red. "Good luck finding another filthy assistant who'll take as much crap from you."

Erik grins. "How many times have I fired you?"

"Counting now? Fifty three," Alex replies without skipping a beat. "Don't forget, no one else knows how else you like your coffee done: three shots, extra-hot steamed skim milk, served on top of a virgin."

"Oh, that's right. You're re-hired then," Erik calls out as Alex nudges Hank into a cab, then waves goodbye.

"How do you find virgins in LA?" Charles asks drunkenly in the back of the car as Erik opens the other door for his sister Raven to climb in. "There must be a serious shortage."

"That's why I keep re-hiring Alex," Erik says with a grin as he scoots in, then nods at the driver. Raven, who is thankfully a little more sober, provides the address, and Erik watches the two of them snoozing, Raven's head resting on Charles's shoulder.

Charles and his sister live in a small house near Santa Monica, which surprises Erik because he had not thought that Charles makes much as an editor. He helps to carry Charles in, and Raven apologises profusely at the take-out cartons scattered on the table. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" she says as she quickly clears them, as though Erik has never seen a take-out carton before.

"Don't worry." He gestures at Charles, curled up in an armchair. "Will he be fine?"

"Yeah, um, if you want to stay over, uh..." Her eyes are darting around nervously, and Erik takes pity on her.

"No, it's all right, I have to get going." He takes one of the take-out napkins and a nearby pen, and scribbles a number on it. "This is my personal mobile number. Please make sure Charles gets it. Only five people in the Western hemisphere have this number, so please tell him not to give it to anyone," he warns her. "Especially members of the press."

Now Raven is frowning. "What do you take Charles for? Did you know that he pulled all articles about you from this month's issue, just in case you thought he had taken advantage of your... _whatever_ this is?"

Erik stares at her, surprised. "I had not known that," he admits. He looks down at Charles, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol, and he brushes his fingers against the dark waves of hair, something tight in his chest loosening.

"You've brought a lot of chaos into his life, I can tell you that," she says, but she doesn't sound quite so offended anymore. "Anyway, I'll give him the number."

"Thanks," he says, and as he heads outside and back into the car, he wonders what the hell he is doing.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Wow, I am completely stunned by the response to what was intended to be a crack-ish fill. Thank you so much for the fantastic comments, and the equally fantastic artwork! I don't even know where to begin:
> 
> [Keio](http://keio.livejournal.com) has drawn an exceptionally beautiful photo-set of €rik performing – one as the male version of Gaga, saucy and vamping it up with METAL CHAINS on his mic stand, hnnffggh, and the other is a jaw-droppingly beautiful rendering of him performing on his double bass in Tokyo. You can see this masterpiece [here.](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/8698157842/hot-like-mexico-live-in-tokyo-fa-of-ff-bad) Another one is a hilarious drawing of [Sean spazzing out in the office](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/8945847257/we-have-guests-sean-says-cheerfully-as-he) as he unknowingly walks past a pop star.
> 
> Not to be outdone, [Beanrice](http://beanrice.livejournal.com) has also drawn a WONDERFUL set of Erik hiding from the paparazzi in his fedora and shades, and another drawing I had pimped earlier of Erik in the Haus of M with his feather boa and hilarious, vacant I-don't-belong-here expression. See it [here](http://beanrice.tumblr.com/post/8770092987/my-fanarts-of-erik-or-should-i-say-euro-trash), as well as a very cute colour drawing of Charles [here](http://beanrice.tumblr.com/post/8840387895/hey-look-what-i-saved-this-time-i-finally).
> 
> Finally, [Shizuke](http://shizuke.livejournal.com) mentioned that she was inspired by the idea of €rik wearing his metal suit in the 'Quicksilver' video, and she drew [cyborg!Erik as a result](http://shizuke.livejournal.com/19982.html). Fair warning: IT IS AWESOME!

The first thing Charles wakes up to, other than a splitting headache, is the sound of the Killers blasting from the kitchen. He forces his eyes open, disgusted at the taste of his own mouth, and he's a bit miffed to discover he's still wearing the same clothes from last night, except that his vest is unbuttoned. He had fallen asleep in his favourite armchair again, a habit from too many nights editing articles on his laptop and repeatedly reminding Sean of the difference between 'you're' and 'your'. However, his laptop is nowhere to be found, and he has the strangest memories of last night, which could only be explained as a dream.

Charles shuffles to the kitchen, wincing at the loud music that Raven is singing along to as she stabs at some muffins. "Oh, you're up," she says when she spots Charles, and her all-too casual tone means that she has something to hide, or that she is trying not to laugh at him, or probably both. "Was the ground cold when you crawled out this morning?"

"Cheers very much, Raven," he grumbled, sniffing at the muffins. They smell nice, but he wonders why they have a greenish hue. He heads for the coffee instead, pouring himself a cup and downing it straight. It is so strong that he can see the oily swirls in it.

"Be nice to me, I may have something you want." Her tone has turned sly, and when he raises his eyebrows at her, extending his hand in a 'gimme' gesture, she rolls her eyes and places a take-out napkin in his hand.

"Um, all right." Rather mystified, he is about to wipe his mouth with it when she shrieks and smacks his hand away.

"What are you doing?" She quickly bends down to grab the napkin, staring at Charles in horror as though he had just tried to punch a kitten.

"Whatever it is, I'm apparently doing it wrong," he grumbles, and he's about to shuffle away when she presses the napkin into his hands again, and this time he sees the number scrawled on the back, followed by 'ERIK' in loopy writing. "Oh. OH." He blinks at the napkin.

"Yes, dumbass, he gave you his personal cell number," Raven says cheerfully as she bites into one of her green muffins. "He said only five people had it or some shit like that, and then he kinda threatened you not to give it out, and then I gave him a piece of _my_ mind, and then--"

"Wait, wait." Charles is still staring at the number, his mind still running to catch up with the bus. "When did all this happen again?"

"When you were passed out in your armchair last night." Now Raven looks thoughtful. "It was actually quite sweet of him to send us home, actually."

"He _sent_ us home?" Charles is staring at her, incredulous. "Oh wait, he didn't see my bedroom, did he?"

"No, don't worry," Raven says, and Charles is a little relieved, because Erik surely would have been disgusted to find out that Charles lives like a bag lady, with books and papers and old magazines and dirty mugs strewn everywhere. "Why don't you call him?"

"Maybe later." Charles sips his coffee again, staring at the number and trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and he isn't sure he wants to find out. On the radio the Killers sing, _It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss,_ and Charles can't help wondering if they're quite right.

***

Erik has taken bets with Emma and Janos over whether Alex will turn up on time for work today, and Emma wins the pool when Alex shows up an hour late at the recording studio. "Pay up, boys," she says proudly as Erik and Janos grudgingly fork over the money, while Alex looks mystified but doesn't ask.

"You're late, Summers." Erik tries to put on his sternest tone, but Alex is so covered with love bites that he doesn't know whether to laugh or dig his own eyes out. "Did you know that I had to _get my own coffee_? I almost pulled a hamstring."

"True story," Janos pipes up, wincing at the angry-looking hickeys all over Alex's neck. "Wow, you dating Hannibal Lecter, _guero_?"

"Can it," Alex says, taking a seat on the couch, but there is a lovelorn smile on his face. "You guys are just jealous."

"Jealous of wh--" Everyone falls silent when Erik's Blackberry buzzes on the table, happily chiming the theme song to 'Sex And The City' which Alex had programmed as a joke months ago, but none of them knew how to change and remove it. Erik realises all his staff are staring at him, and for a good reason. Three of the five people who know the number are already in the room with him, and that means it's either Shaw (who is never awake at this time) or--

He picks it up quickly. "Hello?"

"Hi, Erik." Charles's crisp English accent has never been more welcome. "This _is_ Erik, right?"

"Hello, Charles," Erik says, ignoring Alex's burst of idiotic glee and the blank, questioning looks on Emma's and Janos's faces. "I'm glad you got my number."

Now Charles sounds a lot more relaxed. "Good, because Darwin and Sean had given me the number to a Wendy's before and told me it was Ke$ha's publicist."

Erik chuckles, moving away from the studio for more privacy even though Emma, Alex and Janos are trailing behind him eagerly. "You actually fell for it?"

"To be fair, I was exhausted and a little drunk, and we did have a phone interview lined up with her." Charles sounds apologetic, and Erik figures that if anyone in the world can sound apologetic for having a prank played on them, it's Charles. "Imagine explaining to a very harassed sounding manager that I wanted to interview her employee named Ke$ha. And I spelt out the bloody name too."

"Complete with the dollar sign," Erik says with a grin. His staff are still following him, so he dodges into the pantry at the last minute, hearing the soft thump of them colliding with the wall. "You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?"

"Thank you very much, Erik." Charles only sounds amused. "Some people would call it 'trusting', I believe."

Erik snorts with laughter. "Anyway, how's the hangover?"

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the freight train rushing through my head."

"Point taken," Erik glances at Alex. "Hey, if you have nothing on today, why don't you and Hank come and hang out here?"

"Oh." Charles sounds pleased. "But aren't you busy?"

"I'll probably be cooped up in the studio today," Erik admits. "By the time I get out, I'll be glad to have someone other than Alex to snark at."

"Oh, what a treat." Charles's throaty chuckle makes Erik's skin prickle with anticipation. "I'll grab Hank, then we might pop by to say hi." But now, he sounds serious again. "Are you sure it won't be a problem?"

"Not at all. Here's the address." Erik lists it out, ignoring Emma's horrified _what-are-you-doing_ expression. "Just tell the security guard that you're looking for, er, Captain Underpants."

"Beg your pardon?" Charles says. "I think I heard you wrongly."

Erik pinches the bridge of his nose as Alex, Emma and Janos start cracking up. "It's a code name. Captain Underpants."

There is what suspiciously sounds like a snort of laughter on the other end, but somehow Charles still manages to sound dignified. "Of course, my friend."

"I'm not your friend," Erik reminds him with a grin, forgetting that Charles can't see him. "We'll catch up later. And I promise, the address is not a Wendy's."

Charles's laugh is hearty. "Thank you very much for that. See you later, then."

***

Charles is trying _very hard_ not to look at Hank, who very much looks as though he, in the words of Sean, "got some". This time they're in Charles's car, just in case Erik and Alex want to head to somewhere else under some cover of anonymity. Sure enough, the address is in Burbank, and Charles parks next to a monster red SUV with giant rims, hoping he won't come back to find his own Mini Cooper eaten by the bigger car.

The security guard miraculously doesn't laugh when Charles asks for Captain Underpants at the security counter, and instead he hands both Charles and Hank some visitor's passes. Hank pins his on his vest, while Charles slides it into the pocket of his blue shirt, and they both ride up the elevator in rather nervous silence. Still, Hank looks very excited at the prospect of seeing Alex again so soon, and Charles is secretly pleased to see Hank so happy.

 _God, I hope I don't look like that._

They emerge at the third floor, signing in again at the receptionist counter before they're led inside. Along the corridor, there is a series of heavy black soundproof doors, numbered Studio One to Four. When Charles walks past Studio One, he thinks he hears someone rapping in a raspy, high voice, and when he peeps through the tiny window, he's not exactly surprised to see Lil Wayne in front of the mic.

Hank checks his messages. "Alex says they're in Four."

"Right," Charles says, and when they're finally there, they both wait until the red light is turned off before knocking. The door is opened by a gorgeous Hispanic man with dark, shoulder-length hair, and he narrows his eyes at them a little.

"Are you Charles and Hank?" he asks, his voice surprisingly soft as they nod. "I'm Janos, Erik's personal trainer and nutritionist. Come on in."

They follow him into the studio, Charles trying to ignore Hank as he asks why would anyone need a personal trainer and/or nutritionist in a recording studio. Erik is seated behind the console, frowning over a stack of lyrics with an older man Charles doesn't recognise, but the chap has the air of a producer about him. Emma is sitting in an office chair, going through what looks like a media schedule, and she offers them a polite smile. Alex jumps up when he sees Hank, the two of them sharing a sloppy kiss that has the effect of unifying the entire studio in groans and a disgusted, "Yeesh."

"Oh please, like I needed to see you sucking face with my boss," Alex hisses at Charles, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn't overhear, and Charles rolls his eyes. Hank, the traitor, only beams like a child just told that Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy exist and they have formed a band.

Charles sits down in the nearest available chair, while Hank eyes the last seat available, which is a beaten-up maroon sofa with some dubious stains. "Have a seat, Bigfoot," Alex says, slumping into it and patting the cushion beside him."

"I don't know," Hank says hesitantly as he stares down at the sofa. "I'm afraid if I sit down, I might catch crabs."

"If you're going out with Alex, it's too late to worry about that," Emma says dryly, not looking up from her planner as Janos snickers.

"Ah, the love in this room," Alex says dramatically, but he gets up and goes to fetch another chair for Hank who can't stop grinning. When Erik finally looks up, he catches Charles's eye and gives him an apologetic grimace, but Charles waves off the unspoken apology.

They listen to the playback, and Charles had been expecting to hear the usual Euro-pop that Erik is known for. However, this track is slow, gloomy and unexpectedly lovely, like something out of Depeche Mode's heyday. Charles leans forward, intrigued, but one of the chords in the progression sounds a little off, and he frowns.

"Charles?" Erik must have seen him frowning, because he looks concerned. "What do you think?"

"It really is very nice," Charles says a little hesitantly, because the producer is giving him a rather incredulous _who-the-fuck-is-this-guy_ look. "But the third chord in the verse sounds a little off. Maybe it might sound better in A minor?"

"Huh." Erik looks thoughtful even as the producer rolls his eyes. Erik gets up and walks over to the Moog, playing out Charles's suggestion, and the cloud on his face clears. "You know, it does sound better."

"We'll have to record it again, Lehnsherr," the producer says in a thick Swedish accent. "It's a hassle."

"Then we'll record it again," Erik says, and Charles can hear the underlying steel in his voice.

***

Erik is glad for the break, because frankly he wants to rip out the wires and strangle Anders with them, and it's a little unnerving to have Charles so near but be unable to touch him. He looks good today, even with the heavy bags under his eyes from last night, and the way he watches Erik is both affectionate and a little predatory. Erik's skin itches with the siren pull of Charles's body, enticing even under the layers of that preppy shirt and cardigan, and he quickly goes for a cigarette before he jumps on Charles in front of his staff and Stockholm's foremost record producer.

The door to the pantry opens behind him, and he can tell it's Charles from the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave. "Did I cause any problems?" That voice, with its prim and proper British accent, the cause of Erik's undoing.

"Ignore Anders. We always butt heads in the studio," Erik says, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. "He's not used to me considering the opinions of others."

"So why did you listen to me?" Charles sounds amused, and also, rather amazed.

"You're a music journalist," Erik says, angling his body so he's facing Charles. His eyes keep dropping to that red bow of a mouth. "And you've been nothing but honest with me."

Charles's eyes flutter a little guiltily. "Not entirely honest."

"Good enough for me," Erik says, blowing out the smoke away from Charles's face before leaning in and teasing his lips open, and Charles responds hungrily, claiming Erik's mouth with a low hum of hunger, and Erik takes this opportunity to slip his free hand under Charles's cardigan and shirt, palming the smooth, warm skin that he's dying to lick.

Approaching footsteps make them quickly pull apart, but anyone who looks closely will see the flushed pink of Charles's cheeks and easily put two and two together. Seriously, how could anyone resist that come-hither look, coupled with those bedroom eyes at half-mast, staring hungrily at Erik? Not him, which is why he gives Charles an apologetic glance before putting out his cigarette and walking back to the studio.

Besides, he has plans for later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY for the major lapse in updates. Anyway, don't worry, this is not abandoned. THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the awesome, wonderful feedback. Here, have some smut!
> 
> More wonderful art from fantastically gifted artists: the always beautiful [keio](http://keio.livejournal.com) has drawn another cute Sean cartoon [here.](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/9021258996/he-had-fallen-asleep-in-his-favourite-armchair) The scene with Charles's shirt is also inspired by her wonderful drawing [here.](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/8553913742/wip-i-guess-lj-going-down-just-as-i-have-free)
> 
> Also, the magnificent [beanrice](http://beanrice.livejournal.com) has drawn some amazing, AMAZING artwork here:  
> 1) Featuring a hilarious Emma and the staff of Atomic Music (plus a bit of kitten!Erik from the awesome Humane Society) [here.](http://beanrice.tumblr.com/post/9089367188)  
> 2) Featuring a bit more kitten!Erik plus a VERY AWESOME PIMP DADDY €RIK [here.](http://beanrice.tumblr.com/post/9048761899)
> 
> And lastly, just a very quick shout-out to [GiottoBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/giottoblue/pseuds/giottoblue) who put in an €rik reference in Part 12 of her hugely popular, awesome fic, Of Sharks and Scientists which you can read [here.](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/6527.html?thread=11105407#t11105407)

After they are done at the recording studio, there seems to be an unspoken plan to head to Erik's house for dinner. Charles simply tags along without a word, although he can see Janos and Emma exchanging a rather sceptical look. It makes him wonder how often Erik does this. Charles has no illusions about Erik's lifestyle; he is a global pop star after all, and he must be up to his ears in offers from both men and women alike. For a startling moment Charles feels completely out of his depth, his ears burning with an odd, misplaced shame. Is he just a quick fling, a passing amusement for a celebrity who wants the thrill of bedding a member of the press?

It's something he thinks about on the drive over, with Hank and Alex crammed into his back seat and guffawing over something juvenile. He envies their easy chemistry, their lack of concern over what could be a very temporary thing. Maybe it's their youth. Ten years ago, Charles wouldn't have given a damn either, but now that he is looking at the wrong side of thirty, he's too old to be screwing around.

The car in front honks loudly, and Charles realises Erik's driver is telling him to make an upcoming left. Snapping to attention again, Charles keeps his eyes on the road and it isn't long before they are in an exclusive Malibu neighbourhood, and Charles stares at the various sprawling properties in awe. The houses in the neighbourhood - mansions, really - are all heavily guarded by Kevlar-wearing uniformed men, and Erik's McMansion is no exception.

A tall, tanned man in a black mandarin suit and goatee is waiting at the gate, and he bends down when Erik's driver rolls down his window. Charles doesn't have to guess that their quick discussion is about him when the goateed man turns to glance sharply in Charles's direction, then nods. Erik's car goes ahead first, and now the security officer is waving for Charles to come forward, gesturing for him to roll his window down as well.

"Do you need any ID?" Charles asks politely.

" _Nyet_ , you already have clearance," the man says in a thick Russian accent, before his face lights up as he spots Alex in the back seat. "Hey, Summers!"

"Azazel! This is Hank, and this is Charles," Alex says by way of introduction. "They're friends of Erik."

"Hmmm." The shadow of doubt crossing Azazel's face is a good indication that this doesn't happen often. "We talk later, Summers."

"Gotcha." Alex smiles a little apologetically as Charles winds up the window again and drives through the gate. "Don't worry about Azazel, he's cool. He's ex-FSB, you know." He turns to Hank, who has a blank look. "That's the Russian equivalent of the CIA."

"Fantastic," Charles says. Because what he really needs right now is Erik's menacing-looking head of security on his arse if Erik ever decides he's a threat. "I am completely not intimidated, not at all."

They follow Erik's car to a massive underground garage where quite a few other cars are parked, including a sleek black limo the length of three cars. Charles has seen this before – and several others like it – at a distance while covering various award ceremonies. Hank is pawing at the window like an overexcited dog, while Charles feels even more like a fish out of water. This is the first time he's been in such close quarters. He parks his Mini Cooper beside the monstrous limo, getting out first so Alex and Hank can clamber out from the back seat.

Erik thanks his driver who nods with a smile and leaves, but not before shooting Charles a curious glance. It's getting more and more likely that Erik doesn't do this so often, then.

"This way," Janos says to them as he leads the way out of the garage, and Charles wonders if they all live here with Erik, as his staff all seem so at ease with Erik in his house. He follows them wordlessly, and maybe his trepidation must have shown on his face because Erik is now walking behind him, a reassuring hand pressed to the small of Charles's back.

They emerge in a massive living room filled with clean, minimalist furniture and various post-modern paintings mounted on the cream walls. Although the décor is tasteful and stylish, it feels empty somehow, almost clinical and devoid of warmth despite the soft mood lighting. Janos picks up something that looks like a tablet and presses a few buttons, and the lighting immediately brightens to full strength.

"Make yourselves at home," Alex says cheerily, taking off his jacket and flinging it onto the black leather couch. Janos murmurs something about overseeing dinner and making sure Erik doesn't get any carbs, which makes Erik scowl briefly as Janos disappears into the kitchen to talk to the personal chef.

"Well, I suppose you're allowed carbs for dinner even if I'm not," Erik says to Charles, sprawling beside him on the leather sofa, his knee knocking against Charles's. "Is there anything in particular you want? Jean is a really good chef."

"We'll have whatever everyone else is having," Charles says even as Hank is opening his mouth to request something ridiculous like lobster or shark steak, probably. "We don't want to be a bother."

A corner of Erik's mouth tugs up into a smile. "You're not a bother."

"I suppose that's good, isn't it?" Charles says, unable to stop smiling as well.

Erik's smile is now bordering on a smirk. "Depends on what happens the rest of the night."

***

Dinner is a rather noisy affair, what with Hank and Alex discussing their love for obscure bands that all wear tight skinny jeans while Erik argues with Janos over some new change in his training regimen that will start on Monday. Charles seems happy, dissecting his salmon while deep in conversation with Emma over some people they mutually know in the business. It is easy for Erik to forget that Charles is a member of the press, and how he shouldn't really trust Charles this easily, but he just _does_ , for reasons he is not willing to examine too closely.

Once dinner is over, Alex and Hank make their excuses and leave for Alex's place, the randy bastards, while Emma sighs and says she's going to call it a night. Janos offers to send her home, but he shoots a cautious look at Erik when they are leaving. Erik appreciates the protectiveness of his staff, but even then, he is a grown man who can take care of himself, even if he is a celebrity. Finally it is just him alone with Charles, who seems to have shaken off his initial nervousness.

"Are you up for the VIP tour?" Erik asks him, and Charles just shoots him this rather knowing, trusting smile which makes something in his stomach somersault. _So he knows what I've got in mind, concerning him._ And really, Erik has not been able to stop obsessing over the clean, wet taste of Charles's mouth, not since the studio.

Trying not to think too much about how easily Charles acquiesces, Erik proceeds to show him around the house, making a passing comment or two as they walk past the various rooms. Nothing really interesting overall, because the house really is too big for one person (although his staff stay over all the time, but that doesn't really count) and Erik doesn't stay here often enough to fill it up with things that reflect his personality.

However, it is different with his home studio, which is right beside his bedroom. The studio is where Erik keeps the small collection of personal mementos as well as various instruments he has collected from all over the world. The black and white Fender Stratocaster in the glass display case is his pride and joy, of course. "This used to belong to Clapton," he tells Charles, who looks awed as his fingers trail along the glass. "Alex was complaining that I could have used the money to give him a raise, or buy him a small country."

"But it's Clapton," Charles says reverently, as though that explains it all, and suddenly Erik feels a warm burst of solidarity, glad that someone understands how important music is, and that Charles doesn't see him as a joke like a lot of the serious music critics do. Before he's even aware of what he's doing, he's leaning down and capturing that ridiculously red mouth, kissing Charles slowly, sweetly, and the little pleased noises Charles makes in his throat are only serving to turn Erik on even more.

The kiss has none of the urgency of the stolen one earlier in the studio pantry, and Erik is grateful for this extra time to really explore Charles's mouth, to bruise his lips and make him gasp. And Charles does, right into Erik's waiting mouth, and they both smile into the kiss before pulling apart. Charles almost looks playfully bashful now, but it's all an act, as Erik can tell from the lascivious, greedy way Charles is licking his lips, as though chasing the lingering taste of Erik. This only makes him want to push Charles up against the wall and just take him there, his arms clutching at Erik's biceps as he cries out Erik's name, the back of his head repeatedly thumping against the wall with every hard thrust that Erik's hips drive into him. But no, they have the whole night. The whole weekend, hopefully. And Erik wants to take his time.

He moves away before a half-lidded Charles can tempt him into another slow, drugging kiss, smiling as he does so. Charles's soft exhalation of frustration makes him laugh, but something at the corner of the studio catches Charles's eye and this time Charles is the one laughing, his cheeks ruddy with colour.

"My God, Erik, what is that?" And of course, Charles is pointing at the strapless blue dress in the display case, accompanied by a red, shoulder-length wig and black knee-high boots. "This--don't tell me, oh God, this is _your size_ , is this yours?"

Erik ignores the heat burning in his cheeks as he sighs wearily. "That was a costume for an ill-advised music video in Japan that was eventually scrapped." He still remembers the initial humiliation of that day, and how his staff had laughed until they were all blue in the face. He had been even more mortified to discover that he actually liked how _slinky_ the dress had felt on his skin, and that was when he had demanded for the cameras to stop rolling. "Apparently, the Sony Japan staff thought it was very funny to start referring to me as '€rika'. And Alex encouraged them, of course."

Charles bends over now, still wheezing with laughter, and unfortunately this isn't what Erik had in mind in relation to seeing Charles bent over on his behalf. He rolls his eyes and walks out over to his bedroom, hearing Charles stumbling behind him, still in fits of laughter. "The life of a pop star isn't that easy after all," he manages to say as he wipes at his eyes.

"That's not even the worst idea for a music video that Shaw came up with." Erik is shaking his head at the ridiculous memories. "There was one where I was supposed to be a vampire hunter--"

"How original," Charles says, deadpan.

"And there was a really misogynist one that we were sure was going to get banned. It was supposed to be the video for 'Steel Chains'," Erik explains as he dims the lighting a little. Charles, with a very sly and knowing smile, goes to perch himself on Erik's bed, uninvited, crossing his legs as he does so. Erik has to pause, allowing himself the fantasy of kneeling in front of Charles and spreading those linen-covered legs wide open.

"What was the video about?" Charles asks, propping himself up on an elbow, looking genuinely curious. "Considering the soft porn they pass off as music videos today, it must have been bad."

Erik acknowledges this with a nod as he closes the door, noting the way Charles licks his lips as he does so. "It was this whole Greco-Roman slave theme thing," he explains, leaning with his back against the door. "We didn't even film it, because when Emma read the treatment, she complained it was offensive to women, and Shaw basically listens to her--"

"Who's Shaw?"

"My manager," Erik says shortly. When Charles gestures for him to continue with the story, Erik lets out a breath he doesn't know he was holding, loosening his shoulders. "Anyway, the idea for the video is that I'm some harem owner who comes to his room and sees a pleasure slave kneeling on the bed, waiting for him, wearing a slave collar, her head bowed."

Charles sucks in a deep breath, and there is a glint of something dangerous in those intense blue eyes. "Go on."

"The slave was supposed to have her arms bound behind her, with steel chains," Erik says, liking the effect this is having on Charles. "One part I remember, the part that I liked, is that I'm supposed to come up to her and tip her chin up, meaning to send her away because she was sent to my room as a mistake. But instead, I can see in her eyes that she wants me to take her. Badly. It's supposed to reflect the song, about being bound by your desires."

Now Charles is sitting up, clearing his throat as he uncrosses, then crosses his legs again, colour rising in his cheeks. "And then?"

Erik slowly pushes himself off the door and slowly walks over to Charles, whose sharp blue gaze never leaves him. Now Erik is standing in front of him, and Charles is eye level with his groin. He tips Charles's chin up, and out of all the people he has slept with, he doesn't think he's ever seen that degree of _hunger_ in someone's eyes before. "Kneel on the bed, and I'll show you," he finds himself saying.

Charles holds his gaze as he slowly gets to his feet, taking off his cardigan and unbuttoning his shirt, tugging at the sleeves which are a little too long for him. Erik stops him halfway, turning him around so that he can use the shirt to bind Charles's arms together. Judging from the surprised, "Oh," that Charles utters and the way a flush is creeping down the pale back of his neck, Erik can tell he's getting off on this as well.

Now that his arms are bound behind him, Charles throws Erik a come-hither look over his shoulder before finally going to kneel on the bed. It makes Erik hard beyond reason when Charles assumes a submissive pose, bowing his head down and waiting for Erik to do as he pleases with him. Erik cups his cheek, loving the way Charles can't help nuzzling into his touch. "Your mouth," Erik whispers, pressing his thumb against that lush bottom lip and inhaling deeply when it gives way, Charles slowly sucking on his fingers. "I thought a lot about your mouth last night."

Charles moans in response, leaning forward so his head is rubbing against Erik's stomach. Erik doesn't even realise he's whipping off his own shirt, and his head tips back with a groan as Charles nuzzles his bare stomach, murmuring, "Erik, God, please," against his skin, low and broken.

"Yes," Erik hisses, unzipping his jeans and shoving them down along with his briefs, and his mouth drops open when he feels Charles press a tentative kiss to the head of his already straining cock, which is pointing towards Charles's red, lush mouth. "Oh fuck, Charles--"

Erik is glad he remembered to lock the door when Charles dips his head, then starts taking as much of Erik's length into his mouth as he can, his tongue doing things that make Erik's eyes cross. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh for the love of, fuck, Charles!"

He can feel the muscles around Charles's mouth straining as though he is trying to smile around Erik's cock, but it's a lost cause as his mouth is too full. Words are mindlessly pouring out of Erik now, mostly consisting of "fuck" and "Charles" and "on your knees, sucking my cock, _yes_ " and his fingers tighten in the dark silk of Charles's hair.

Charles pulls his mouth off with a gasp, taking in lungfuls of air, and Erik tugs on his hair so that Charles's head is tipped back, that ripe mouth begging for a kiss which Erik gives him, wet and filthy and greedy. "Erik," Charles gasps when they break apart, his eyes almost black with a tiny ring of blue, his face entirely flushed red like the time Erik had seen him drunk at the club. But this time, Charles is drunk on him, and Erik pushes him back onto the bed, laughing as Charles topples over with an "oof!"

"You should see yourself." Erik pulls off his jeans and underwear, grinning when he sees Charles's gaze is fixed on his cock, shiny with Charles's own spit. "All tied up like that, just asking to be fucked."

"That's what you think." There is a note of defiance in Charles's voice, but Erik knows it's all for show, playing along with the little fantasy. "Let me go, Erik."

Instead Erik reaches over and pulls out a tube of lubricant and a foil packet from his bedside table. "I would, but your eyes are asking for something else entirely," he says, lazily stroking his cock and watching the way Charles bites down on his lip in response. He reaches down to unbutton Charles's trousers, and laughs when Charles eagerly arches his hips up to ease the process of pulling them off, which Erik does, flinging them off to some far corner.

He slicks his fingers, then climbs onto the bed so that he is hovering over Charles. "If you want me to let you go, you need to stop writhing under me like that, Charles," he says, working his hand in between Charles's thighs which fall open for him immediately. "Mmh, so easy for me--"

"Dammit, Erik," Charles curses as he feels the intrusion of Erik's fingers, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. "My arms hurt."

Concern flares up in the back of Erik's mind, but the dominant side which Charles has awakened just wants to see Charles squirm some more. "You should have thought of that before you offered yourself so freely to me." He finds what he is looking for and hooks his fingers, and Charles trashes up so violently that Erik is nearly flung off the bed.

"Erik!" Charles's face is a deep red now, lines strained around his eyes. "For fuck's sake, Erik, if you don't get inside me right now, I swear--"

"Tsk tsk tsk," Erik uses his free hand to wave a finger at Charles in admonishment, shaking _no-no-no_. "My house, my terms."

"Then I can't bloody wait until I have you chained to my bedposts," Charles hisses, and Erik has to close his eyes at that image. "You'd better pray I can't get out of these, Erik."

"I don't care." They both know it's a game, because if Charles really wants to, he can easily break out of his tangled sleeves, but his arms remain steadfastly bound behind his back. Unable to wait any longer, Erik makes Charles watch as he pulls on the condom, then slicks his cock with lube, getting in a few strokes as he watches Charles watch him.

 _"Erik--"_ How someone can sound so broken and so determined at the same time, Erik doesn't know, and he pulls Charles up so he's on his knees again, even though he's swaying a little. Erik scoots under him, arranging them so that Charles is straddling him, and it takes a lot of shifting and grunting, but finally, _finally_ Erik is guiding his cock into Charles, groaning as he watches Charles sink down on him, and Charles's mouth is slack, his eyes half-lidded, those cheeks pink with exertion.

Erik gives him as much time as possible to get used to his girth, but when Charles makes that desperate noise in the back of his throat, Erik can't stop his hips from arching up into Charles, and they both moan, accompanied by the slick slap of skin meeting skin. Erik's hands are planted squarely on Charles's hips, so tight that he might leave marks all over that pretty pale skin, and the thought of seeing his marks on Charles makes him thrust up again, harder this time.

"God, Erik--" Charles's eyes are now squeezed shut, and Erik is desperate for him to open them again so he can lose himself in that hazy blueness, and he thrusts up so hard that Charles's arms clench and a button from the shirt flies off. "Erik, harder, Erik, please--"

"Oh, Charles," Erik's hips are not even listening to him anymore, fucking Charles in short, sharp bursts that make him gasp and writhe and shout, and it's inconceivable how hot it is that Charles is restrained by his own shirt, and Erik plans to keep it, to wear it himself so he'll always smell of Charles, just to see those eyes darken to indigo. "Fuck, so tight, so _hot_ , fuck--"

Charles is laughing breathlessly, his teeth a straight, sharp line that Erik wants to run his tongue over, and he does, turning it into a kiss that is surprisingly sweet yet possessive, and he's taking Charles's mouth the way he's taking his body, and Charles is giving every single inch of himself to Erik, so honest and open and _trusting_ , just like when they had first met on day one, and Erik has never felt like he's wanted to give someone everything, to let them see the dark, burnt edges of himself that would make most recoil in revulsion. But Charles, who both knows and doesn't know this crazy, twisted life he leads, Charles would understand, Charles would accept him, and his hand clumsily wraps around Charles's leaking erection, rubbing his thumb over the head and smiling when he swallows Charles's groan and feels him spurting into his hand.

"Erik." And now Charles is slumped against him, dragging in shaky breaths of air, and Erik holds him still while he thrusts a few more times before losing himself in a burst of white, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutches Charles to him with a wordless shout, losing himself in the sinful tightness of Charles's body, drenched with sweat.

When his breathing has returned to normal, he realises Charles has that mischievous, knowing glint in his eyes again. "A little help, Erik?" He wiggles his arms experimentally with a little wince.

"Oh." He loosens the bond, and grins as Charles lets out a soft "ow" as he shakes off the shirt. Erik helps to massage the feeling back into his arms, and by then he's softened enough to pull out of Charles, throwing the condom away before leaning back with a sigh, pulling Charles down with him so he's half-sprawled on top of Erik. "Jesus."

"I know." Charles sounds faraway, still in disbelief. "This is a bad idea."

"I like bad ideas," Erik says, yawning before tugging Charles closer, his lids heavy with sleep.


End file.
